Part 13 (1/2)
12.
The guard called his name, frisked him and led him to a large room where a row of small booths was occupied with visitors talking and whispering through thick metal screens.
”Number fourteen,” the guard said, and pointed. Mitch walked to his booth and sat down. A minute later Ray appeared and sat between his dividers on the other side of the screen. Were it not for a scar on Ray's forehead and a few wrinkles around the eyes, they could pa.s.s for twins. Both were six-two, weighed about one-eighty, with light brown hair, small blue eyes, high cheekbones and large chins. They had always been told there was Indian blood in the family, but the dark skin had been lost through years in the coal mines.
Mitch had not been to Brushy Mountain in three years. Three years and three months. They'd exchanged letters twice a month, every month, for eight years now.
”How's your French?” Mitch finally asked. Ray's Army test scores had revealed an amazing apt.i.tude for languages. He had served two years as a Vietnamese interpreter. He had mastered German in six months while stationed there. Spanish had taken four years, but he was forced to learn it from a dictionary in the prison library. French was his latest project.
”I'm fluent, I guess,” Ray answered. ”It's kinda hard to tell in here. I don't get much practice. Evidently they don't teach French in the projects, so most of these brothers here are unilingual. It's undoubtedly the most beautiful language.”
”Is it easy?”
”Not as easy as German. Of course, it was easier to learn German since I was living there and everybody spoke it. Did you know that fifty percent of our language comes from German through Old English?”
”No, I didn't know that.”
”It's true. English and German are first cousins.”
”What's next?”
”Probably Italian. It's a Romance language like French and Spanish and Portuguese. Maybe Russian. Maybe Greek. I've been reading about the Greek isles. I plan to go there soon.”
Mitch smiled. He was at least seven years away from parole.
”You think I'm kidding, don't you?” Ray asked. ”I'm checking out of here, Mitch.e.l.l, and it won't be long.”
”What are your plans?”
”I can't talk. But I'm working on it.”
”Don't do it, Ray.”
”I'll need some help on the outside, and enough money to get me out of the country. A thousand should do it. You can handle that, can't you? You won't be implicated.”
”Aren't they listening to us?”
”Sometimes.”
”Let's talk about something else.”
”Sure. How's Abby?”
”She's fine.”
”Where is she?”
”Right now she's in church. She wanted to come, but I told her she wouldn't get to see you.”
”I'd like to see her. Your letters sound like y'all are doing real well. New house, cars, country club. I'm very proud of you. You're the first McDeere in two generations to amount to a d.a.m.ned thing.”
”Our parents were good people, Ray. They had no opportunities and a lot of bad luck. They did the best they could.”
Ray smiled and looked away. ”Yeah, I guess so. Have you talked to Mom?”
”It's been a while.”
”Is she still in Florida?”
”I think so.”
They paused and studied their fingers. They thought of their mother. Painful thoughts for the most part. There had been happier times, when they were small and their father was alive. She never recovered from his death, and after Rusty was killed the aunts and uncles put her in an inst.i.tution.
Ray took his finger and followed the small metal rods in the screen. He watched his finger. ”Let's talk about something else.”
Mitch nodded in agreement. There was so much to talk about, but it was all in the past. They had nothing in common but the past, and it was best to leave it alone.
”You mentioned in a letter that one of your ex-cellmates is a private investigator in Memphis.”
”Eddie Lomax. He was a Memphis cop for nine years, until he got sent up for rape.”
”Rape?”
”Yeah. He had a tough time here. Rapists are not well regarded around this place. Cops are hated. They almost killed him until I stepped in. He's been out about three years now. He writes me all the time. Does mainly divorce investigations.”
”Is he in the phone book?”
”969-3838. Why do you need him?”
”I've got a lawyer buddy whose wife is fooling around, but he can't catch her. Is this guy good?”
”Very good, so he says. He's made some money.”
”Can I trust him?”
”Are you kidding. Tell him you're my brother and he'll kill for you. He's gonna help me get out of here, he just doesn't know it. You might mention it to him.”
”I wish you'd stop that.”
A guard walked behind Mitch. ”Three minutes,” he said.
”What can I send you?” Mitch asked. ”I'd like a real favor, if you don't mind.”
”Anything.”
”Go to a bookstore and look for one of those ca.s.sette courses on how to speak Greek in twenty-four hours. That plus a Greek-to-English dictionary would be nice.”
”I'll send it next week.”
”How about Italian too?”